06/05/2021
A book about weddings should bring up very different images depending on several factors but before delving into those and either coaxing you to read further or just lay this book aside, let me say that the perspective offered here is somewhat unique and the stories are at least fun to read, which I know from experience, having told many of them verbally and witnessed animated reactions from just about everyone also leading to suggestions of writing them down. Ordained in 1968, I pastored The First Church of Metaphysical Science for seven years and taught as Headmaster of the seminary associated with said church, graduating many students, some of whom were ordained to carry on the work and others who just wanted to know more about the psychology of religion in general.
The duties of the Pastor included providing weekly services for the congregation, which in my case involved playing music for meditation and the singing of hymns to open the Sunday evening service, choosing readers as an introduction to the topic of the week and delivering an hour-long lecture designed to instruct and inspire the congregation who were looking for a better life or at least a life preserver to assist in life’s current frustrations. In addition, counselling of various types, performing weddings, funerals, baptisms, house blessings and other somewhat normal activities were associated with such a calling.
Hidden from the critical eyes of church members, a desire to pursue a career as a professional jazz musician began to haunt my waking moments and cause me to imagine a method for accomplishing this goal. After all, I did listen to music frequently and my expanding collection of jazz records only fueled the fire. I practiced several instruments whenever feasible, offered private instruction on those instruments and taught a night school music class at the local Junior College, which became more popular as time went on. Among those instruments was the Indian sitar, sarod and tablas, which were also used to direct classes in meditation.
All of these activities, coupled with my secret desire, culminated in a decision to resign from the church and move back to the United States Virgin Islands, where I had lived seven years before and had visited on several occasions only to discover that a unique situation now existed for a life of solitude and anonymity, ideal to wood-shed (a musician’s term for isolated practice), perfect this craft and watch the new direction of my life unfold. It seemed to be a logical and not particularly daunting task, even though many obvious steps had to be taken first, including telling students, friends and parishioners of my intentions. Of course it was to be a radical change from living a comfortable suburban life in a nicely furnished house with a garden out back, a car and the respect of the community as long as everything was up to their standards. Now I would be living in a plywood storage shed with chicken wire windows and a huge door that was actually part of one wall on hinges, overlooking a beautiful harbor called Cruz Bay, located on the western end of St. John, United States Virgin Islands. Electric power was available with a long extension cord to my only neighbor’s house and they also let me use their bathroom even though I usually showered outside with a bucket of rainwater.
These apparent sacrifices were being made in order to pursue a long standing passion without the stigma attached to being an ordained minister with multiple college degrees. Unless you’ve been there in person, you wouldn’t understand how differently people treat you when the title minister, pastor, reverend, Father, priest or rabbi is attached to your name. I was never comfortable with it and as time progressed, the apparent stigma was amplified. “Oh, I’m sorry reverend” or “Father” became standard in many conversations and there were many places you just weren’t expected to be seen without a verbal explanation. From observation, even being famous doesn’t come with the expectations accompanying such a background. Being a musician, whether a good one or even just decent came with a wholly different set of expectations, some of which could be left to the imagination.
Many people moved to the island of St.John with escape from previous lifestyles in mind or sometimes just a desire to disappear and work on reinvention of a persona that fit more comfortably in a small, island community where mostly first names were used or replaced by colorful nicknames. At first I kept a pretty low profile by simply not going to bars or being associated with a particular group but my presence as a musician put me in the public eye and people became curious about who I was and what life story was behind the decision to live on this small island. My only neighbors were friends from years back and they knew about my desire for anonymity. I even put together a band using them as percussive backup serving to also insulate me further from scrutiny.
Living in a small town on a small, isolated island provided a formula leading to enough probing investigation that would put any security agency to shame. In my case, circumstantial necessity led to my exposure as the ordained minister who would never actually retire from such a calling, regardless of current status or desire to be something and somebody else. A truly nice couple my age visited the shed and asked if I would be willing to officiate their wedding. They had asked every minister and priest on the island already but were met with rejection because they weren’t members of any church and wanted their ceremony performed at the top of Peace Hill, outside a Danish sugar mill ruin, in front of a statue of Jesus overlooking the beautiful North Shore of St. John and the British Virgin Islands. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request at a location inviting both a spiritual and joyful atmosphere for the union of a lovely couple who were both respected and indeed loved by the community. The other potential officiants, following normal protocols, would not do such a thing. In the US Virgin Islands, a minister or a judge can perform such a ceremony once approved by The Territorial Court, but the judges usually did so on specific days and times at the courthouse on St. Thomas. Couples literally waited in line for their name to be called.
This couple would not accept that and through the Coconut Telegraph discovered that I was not only a musician but also an ordained minister. I informed them that my area of legality was confined to Florida but the bride-to-be had already talked to the Court and was told it was only necessary to provide them with a copy of my ordination papers and my authorization would be accomplished. Since there was adequate time to complete this, I agreed to accept their plan and was on my way to performing a wedding ceremony on St. John. The Territorial Courthouse was located in downtown Charlotte Amalie, St.Thomas, behind the Post Office and up a flight of stairs. The three clerks, Mrs. Smith, Ms. Lockhart and Olga (I never knew her last name) were friendly and explained the process of having witnesses, turning in paperwork for processing, the two week waiting period before the wedding for a license to be ready and asked for my phone number so they could contact me if a couple desired my service. I must admit, this possibility hadn’t occurred to me and until then the impending wedding was presupposed to be a one-time event. I didn’t even have a phone so I informed them my number would be forthcoming. In the meantime, the only car rental agency on St.John, located across from the Post Office was down the street from where I was currently living and that happened to be a plywood storage shed in the bush next to a green tar storage tank used for paving the few main roads on the small island. The car rental people had a telephone and graciously agreed to take calls for future weddings, if any. When a call was received, a messenger was sent to the shed and I returned to take it, speak with whomever and set up an appointment. Yes, that is how it all began…
